


Stupid Decisions

by tookoff



Category: Malcolm in the Middle
Genre: Angst, Graphic Self Harm TW, Graphic Suicidal Thoughts TW, Malcolm is fucking depressed and I'm a complete edgelord for writing this, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks, Self-Harm, if anyone claims this as wilkercest I'm gonna kill someone, it's not just Malcolm I'm focusing on its gonna be everyone but he's the star of the story, the story becomes happier I promise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:53:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26154520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tookoff/pseuds/tookoff
Summary: Malcolm's mental health starts taking a turn for the worse and he starts making stupid decisions.
Comments: 22
Kudos: 59





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Before I start I would like to give a warning to graphic self harm and my representation of a dysfunctional family and poor mental health, as someone who has suffered horribly from both. I would also like to warn that this first chapter? Much more depressing than the next ones are going to be, I promise.
> 
> I'm also going to be adding a bunch of my own headcanons to this because this is my story and I do what I want.
> 
> I always imagined Malcolm and mentally ill and I don't see as much fanfiction about it now as there was a few years back, so this is my shot at it.
> 
> This is all taken from my experiences.
> 
> Kind criticism appreciated!

School created mountains of homework for Malcolm, which were all properly piled onto his desk. He's been studying for his senior finals for months, his eyes have become red from the lack of sleep and his head becomes wearier with every page turned. He didn't admit to it much, other than complaining about it once in a blue moon when his mother claimed he doesn't do enough, but school got... overwhelming at times. His grades determined his life. His grades were what determined him. An A- to Malcolm was an F to the regular student. If he's such a genius, why is some measly homework becoming so frustrating?

Flipping onto the next page, lamp pressed dimly onto the heavy book, trying to figure out what in the hell this meant, he tapped his pencil on his paper and started reading, his sleepy eyes investigating and decoding every sentence, until shouting came from the other room, causing him to peer up.

"I have the worst parents! You treat us like CRAP!" Reese shouted, slamming the already worn door as his voice echoed throughout the house, causing the two boys that were being quiet inside caught off guard.

"WE'RE the awful ones? US? We tried giving you the best life possible- food, water, shelter, love,- and you turn around and disappoint us at every turn! What the hell is wrong with you?" Lois screamed. Malcolm could imagine her purple face almost crystal clear.

"Whatever! I wish you were dead!"

"I'm taking you with me! I-Into your room, NOW!"

Malcolm looked up as he heard slamming footsteps from down the hallway. Suddenly, a red faced Reese opened and slammed the bedroom door, causing a picture to fall from it's hinge and shatter.

"Oh- DAMMIT REESE!-" Lois shouted, but she must've not have been too mad about it because she immediately just sighed and ignored it and stormed outside, slamming the door behind her, supposedly with Hal to discuss Reese's punishment for who knows what.

"What'd you do?" Malcolm asked curiously but cautiously, looking at Reese who's now lying down on the bed with his face still red and what looks to be water threatening to come out of his eyes.

"Nothing! Mom's accusing me of burning down the Hansen's shed!" Reese yelled, almost as if he was directing it to his mother.

"...Well, did you?"

"No!" Reese shouted, huffing and shaking his head. He grabbed a rubber ball and started throwing it at the ceiling, something he usually did when he was stressed out.

"Why does she think you did it then?" Malcolm wasn't sure if getting this nosy was a good idea, but he supposed it wouldn't do too much damage.

"Because she's a cranky old lady who wants to start a fight with me any chance she gets." Reese sighed, squeezing the ball before throwing it again, hitting the ceiling. "It just sucks you know? Being accused of something I never did. She does this all the time. Everybody does it all the time." He started, before shutting himself up and looking down at the now worn ball, cracks apparent where he squeezed it. He threw it on the ground, forgetting it, and started grabbing his backpack (which was filled with torn half assed homework papers and what looked like a dead squirrel), heading to the bathroom to grab the new 12-pack of toilet paper out of the cabinet, opening it, and shoving it all inside the backpack.

"What are you doing?" Malcolm asked, worried that Reese is going to get in even more trouble.

"Wanna go for a ride to Mrs. Winston's and give her a little TP surprise?" Reese asked, almost innocently.

"What? Why?"

"She's the one who told mom that she saw me do it." Reese huffed, smiling devilishly as he continued to shove the last toilet paper roll in the half destroyed backpack.

"Aren't you afraid you're gonna get in even more trouble?" Malcolm propped himself up from his desk, something he hasn't done all day other than for lunch and a bathroom break, as he stared at Reese curiously.

"Who cares? I'm pretty sure she's as pissed as she's gonna get. So, you in or out?"

Malcolm looked at the stack of papers and books on his desk, took a deep breath and nodded. "Sure, I could use a break."

Reese smiled, happy his accomplice agreed to come along. "Good. Get your ski mask and gloves, we don't wanna risk getting caught."

—

Reese drove them there through the Johnson's spare key under their Ford's tire. Malcolm, now covered head to toe in black just like Reese, held a toilet paper roll in one hand and a spare red spray paint can, always hidden from his family, from under his bed in another. Reese held two rolls of toilet paper.  
The house was humongous (well, to the average poor family anyways), with a beautiful lawn with azaleas bushes. The boys gleamed with excitement when thinking about taking all this beauty away from them.

"Alright," Reese whispered, analyzing the area, "I'll start on her roof. You can start on her bushes, and we'll work from there."

Malcolm nodded.

About an hour went by, and the boys vandalized the whole property. Dirty words were written on the walls, toilet paper was all over, and a spiteful aura was left behind.

"C'mon, let's go before-," Malcolm was suddenly interrupted by sounds of voices way in the distance, deep voices, along with quiet sounds of tires driving on the road, causing the duo to glare at each other before instinctively dropping their items and sprinting into the woods in Mrs. Winston's backyard.

Hearts racing, Malcolm and Reese sprinted as fast as rabbits as their heads clashed into the branches, leaving little cuts here and there. Reese swore to himself over and over while Malcolm tumbled clumsily over his feet as he looked for an exit. As natural tunnel made of branches appeared, Malcolm grabbed Reese's arm as he rushed him down through it.

It was a long sprint, before they slowed down and started walking, keeping a lookout for any noise. Animals in the woods would occasionally snap a twig and startle the boys, but satisfaction passed over them both as they started to realize they just got away with it.

"Fucking pigs," whined Reese in his quietest voice, sitting down next to a raspberry bush and catching his breath.

"You idiot." Malcolm huffed. "I can't believe you talked me into this." Malcolm whispered angrily, taking deep breaths in between his words.

"You agreed to come along with me." Reese retaliated. "You thought it'd be a good idea too. You didn't like Mrs. Winston either."

"I know, but now Mrs. Winston is probably gonna blame you again and we're probably both gonna get in trouble!" Malcolm hissed, while letting his body cool down on the cold dirt.

"You don't know that, she wouldn't blame us twice in a row, especially since she doesn't have any evidence, just like last time. Then it'd be obvious she was making stuff about me because she has some weird old person agenda. Even then, if Mom did believe her, I think Mom is as mad as she's gonna get, most is she might tack on another two months worth of punishment, but it's worth it. Dont'chya think?"

"Reese, I'll talk about this later, but right now I really need a drink. Do you have any water in your backp-," Malcolm's heart dropped as he looked around Reese, and then looked down the trail.

"Reese."

"Hm?"

"Where's the backpack?"

—

"YOU-! I CAN'T BELIEVE-!" Lois spat, heart racing as beads of sweat ran down her pulsing temples. Hal paced behind her, red faced with a contemplating serious stare and crazed eyes. Malcolm and Reese sat in the kitchen chairs next to each other, occasionally giving each other glimpses of fear.  
Lois took a deep breath, grabbed a cup of tea from the table (made supposedly before the cops came to inform them they found a backpack with schoolwork containing Reese's name at the crime scene), and she closed her eyes, soon opening them after. Malcolm thought he saw her hairs graying.

"As long as you boys are under this house, you are going to be severely punished. As long as you are living here you are going to be grounded and worked to death." Another breath.  
"No TV, no video games, no friends, no going out, no girlfriends. You are to go outside only when instructed." Lois felt her heart flutter, but torturing the boys like they're her prisoners seemed to calm her heart rate down a little. The boys felt a wave of fear and anger hit them.

"Until we move out?" Malcolm repeated furiously. His time of moving out for Harvard would be in August, and it's currently February. He's been grounded for longer, but never from as many things at one time like this.

"That's right. Your last year here is going to be miserable. I will work you senseless. You'll do everything I say."

"That's right!" Hal spoke up. "Your behaviors has been INEXCUSABLE with a CAPITAL E! No, wait, I mean a capital I... Agh! You know what I mean! You're in huge trouble!"

Reese, being unable to control his anger anymore, slammed the table and started shouting.

"Well, you know what! I wouldn't have done what I did if you didn't believe that stupid bat about the shed! I told you I didn't do it and you know she didn't have any evidence, but you grounded me anyways!" He retaliated, accidentally knocking over Lois's tea cup. Reese had his hands curled up into fists per usual.

Lois, while going on a spree on about how ungrateful the two boys are, walked around the room, screaming and blubbering while Hal gently placed his arm around her to calm her down. But suddenly, Malcolm's head decided to tune her out. Not necessarily to focus on anything else or think about anything actually... Almost as if his brain had went to sleep, but his body hasn't. He sat there dead eyed, waiting for the yelling to stop, which took a solid two and a half hours hours. Eventually, he was sent to his room.

—

In the end, Reese had been kicked out of the house, while Malcolm just got the regular punishment announced at the beginning of the lecture. Malcolm, thinking, supposed that was Mom's final snapping point. He wasn't sure why that specifically was what made her snap, he knows she's been touchy in general, but he didn't think she'd take it this far. Truth was, he felt like he was still in the strange daze from earlier. He didn't know what was happening to him, but he knew this definitely happens sometimes. When he's stressed or upset. Beyond a sadness or an anger. It felt almost like a lack of emotion, like his head was turned off. Almost like the way Reese turns his brain off to relax, he thought.

Malcolm was back to his desk that seated a chair that was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. While looking at the gibberish in the books, his eyes glazed the papers and his head retained absolutely nothing, like one side out the other. He chewed on his pencil eraser and thought about life. It was just uncontrollable thoughts, one after another, piling up as he over thought like usual, except this time it felt like a higher pace. Random things that were bothering him. Things like how, for the rest of his life, he's going to be living up to his family's expectations. How he feels like he always has to try harder, and that his best is never enough, despite all the compliments and the awards. How life never wanted him to be happy, and always took the good away, how his life teased him with good but gave him nothing. How fucking tired he was.

His weary blue eyes peered to his sleeping younger brother in the childish bed, who cuddled his pillow and took up about 2/3rds of the bed. Malcolm noticed the dead silent house, and the crickets outside, and how absolutely nobody is awake but him. He still sat at his desk, looking at the paper due for Mr. Herkabe's class tomorrow, first period. Malcolm started to feel increasingly uncomfortable, as if the walls were closing in on him and his heart randomly decided to pump faster. He can't stand the thought of tomorrow. Malcolm grabbed a pen and chewed on the edges, leaving little dents. He can't stand the thought of living day after day after day.

Maybe I'm a melodramatic loser. Maybe I'm just a crybaby.  
He started shaking uncontrollably, his pale hands no longer able to hold a pencil as he let the chewed utensils drop on the floor. His heart sped up even more as he felt himself grip his bared knee, leaving nail marks that bled slightly as his knuckles turned pure white against his skin.

It's as if another entity led him to the bathroom. It didn't even enter his mind, it was like natural instinct. Now bare other than a pair of rugged boxers with his clothes askew on the tiles, Malcolm sat on the toilet seat with his knees to his chest and held his shaving razor, and before he knew it, there it was. A deep cut on the upper part of his thigh. Just one, of course.

Almost as if a monster left his body, Malcolm looked down and realized what he just done. Oh god. Oh god oh god. Why did he do that? Is he stupid? Why would that be a good idea? Why did he deserves it? Why does it feel nice?

Panicking, Malcolm brought himself down to his regular senses. Breathe. Just breathe. Take a deep breath. You're still Malcolm, he thought. I'm still me. I'm still here. I'm okay. This was just a stupid little mistake. I'm okay. It wasn't even that big of a deal, Malcolm rationed.

It's just a small decision he made in the spur of a panic attack. A stupid one. One that even the happiest teenager will do at one point in their life out of curiosity. It doesn't even matter, because he's a normal person, and everything is going to be okay. It's going to be okay.

Malcolm started bawling as he gripped the shaving razor and as the monster came back and struck him a few more times. He curled up into the corner and hugged himself, thinking about how Reese was doing. Did he find himself another apartment or would he live under some neighbors porch again? Should he have enabled Reese into doing such a stupid thing? Was this all his fault? He shook, he sobbed, he whimpered, he sniffled until his face was soaked wet with tears and sweat, until his fingernails dug deep into his arms causing them to bleed, until he cried so hard he threw up and then... Then he took a deep breath. He took a deep breath and noticed the moon out the window, the faucet dripping in the bath, the sensitivity of his eyes, and the cold tiles of where he rested. After what felt like an hour he forced himself up and looked in the mirror. His eyes were red and glistened, his nose was running and painful, and his throat was on fire. A small amount of blood ran down his arm.

He took a deep breath. I'm fine, he thought. I'm fine. It was a stupid little mistake. A stupid decision that was poorly thought out. Everything is going to be okay. Everything's going to be okay. He repeated this in his head until the words didn't feel real anymore. He didn't feel any better, but he felt tired enough to pass out right next to Dewey, who was comfortably asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Sorry again for the depressing start.
> 
> Please tell me about any grammatical or spelling errors! King criticism appreciated!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Here's part two! See? I told you it wouldn't be so depressing in the next few chapters.
> 
> Before I go on, I'd like to thank everyone who left nice reviews and everyone who left kudos. While I don't need either of the two to continue writing, it makes me feel great about my writing and I really, really appreciate it.
> 
> I really, really hope nobody was too our of character. Please tell me if you think they are!
> 
> Please tell me about any spelling or grammatical errors I missed! Kind criticism appreciated!

Malcolm was a short, pimpled 14 year old again boy again, just barely entering his freshman year high school. He laid in the lazily made bed in old pajamas in a curled, almost fetal like position. He's been like this for hours. His stomach growled but his body contained no mental motivation to fulfill his physical needs. In fact, most of the time, he was too lethargic to even speak, other than telling his family short verbal tragedies centered around his self wallowing.  
In the dimly lit room, he slowly pulled his old covers over him to make everything on the outside completely invisible. The only thing in the world right now was him, his warm blanket, and his thoughts. He didn't have any thoughts in particular that stuck out to him, all he knew is that his thoughts were pessimistic and half formed in a hazed state of mind.

His brothers, including Francis, who was apparently back from Alaska, entered the room. They entered silently, the only sounds being emitted were footsteps and the gentle shutting of the door. Reese tugged the blanket off of Malcolm in an aggressive manner. The bright light from the window damaged his eyes, causing him to squint and let out a hiss. He shut his eyes and sprawled out in a star shaped position, encompassing the whole bed. It seemed to be bigger than usual.

"What are you doing, Malcolm?" One of them spoke, he wasn't sure who. The voice was unfamiliar and it echoed off the walls.

"Are you going to be like this the rest of your life?" The voice laughed in a mocking tone.

"Why can't you just be normal?"

"You're supposed to be the hero of the family, Malcolm! You're our only hope."

"You're becoming weirder everyday."

"Everybody is starting to hate you."

"Nothing actually matters, you know. You're upset over nothing."

"Fucking freak."

—

Malcolm, now 17 years old and a senior in high school, woke up with a jump, his blue eyes popping open. The room was still fairly dark, he suspected it was around 6am. He gained the energy to look over to Dewey, who was calmly curled up in a blanket, almost burrito like, mouth curved into a slight smile. At least someone here was happy. He peeked over to Reese's bed, now empty, giving Malcolm a gentle reminder of last night, which fell over him as his stomach dropped. Suddenly, the cuts on his legs seemed to burn and itch. He shook his head, deciding he's too tired to deal with everything right now, as he lied his head down back on the pillow and shut his weary eyes.

After lying down for an hour and being unable to fall back asleep, he finally forced himself to get back up despite being tired. Once moving his legs, he winced at the pain. Malcolm first decided to go into the bathroom to check just how bad his legs were.

He lifted up his boxers (which he either had to throw away or wash due to last night's blood) and noticed everything about it. There was five cuts, two on the left and three on the right. Leftover blood remained on both legs, more so on his right, which seemed to have deeper cuts on the left. He frowned as reality hit him. Although Malcolm wouldn't consider this even nearly as serious as, let's say, a suicide attempt, and although m it wasn't even that many cuts, it was something that would cause his family to panic. He could almost hear the "After everything we do for you, this is how you treat your body?" from Mom.

Malcolm, unsure of what to do about this mess he caused in a spiral of emotions last night, grabbed a towel, wetted it, and started dabbing at the blood, cleaning off the dried areas. He put a small amount of soap on the towel and quickly swiped over his cuts, causing him to grimace. A shock sent throughout his legs, but it had to be done. How would you explain an infection on the deep cuts on your legs?

Having his legs properly tended to and washed off, it finally gave him a chance to think about last night, first about the incident with Reese.

He knew that Reese ruined his credit with his apartment, so unless he wanted to pay everything with a dead end job with minimum wage, he'd have to find another way. Sadly, the family still hasn't heard from Reese and Malcolm has been waiting for a phone call or any news about his brother. It was Sunday though, so hopefully he'd at least hear from him at school tomorrow. While Malcolm HATED to admit it, having Reese gone was awfully lonely. He remembered how lonely he got when Reese ran off to fight in the war, the crippling guilt and the overbearing emotional torture... while his situation now wasn't that bad, he can't help but blame himself for encouraging Reese.

A knock on the door jolted Malcolm out of his haze.

"Malcolm! I really, really gotta pee! Are you gonna be in there all day?"

—

Malcolm put on a flannel and an old pair of hand me down pants and went out for breakfast. Dad made the breakfast this time, which meant remains of hair and oddly large chunks of egg shells were still in the food. After all this time of eating garbage and spoiled foods for dares though, it didn't really bother him. He just spit it out and continued with his scrambled eggs.

While he could sense the anger radiating from Hal due to last night, Hal still tried to strike up a conversation.

"So, boys," he started, sitting down and opening a jug of orange juice, "what are your plans for today?"

"Watch TV." Dewey replied casually, his usual with that question. Malcolm huffed, slightly jealous. Even Dewey's stupid Mattel cartoons would be much better than staring at the ceiling or doing a buttload of homework all day.

"Malcolm?"

"What do you think?"

"Well, it's not like you didn't deserve it!" Hal hissed, putting down his burnt piece of toast.

"Poor Mrs. Winston spent hours scrubbing off the spray paint you so thoughtlessly-"

Suddenly, the phone rang. Hal stopped his rant and quickly rushed over to it, secretly hoping it was Reese.

"Hello?... Francis?" Even though Malcolm was sitting far away and the phone was making his words sound all jumbled, he could sense the furious shouting coming from the other line.

"Francis, son, this really isn't any of your business, I mean, you should've seen the disaster the two of them made!" He shot a dirty glace at Malcolm, who wasn't afraid to roll his eyes back.

"Who's the parent here?... Reese will be fi-! You can't seriously come all the way over here for this! What about-!" Malcolm and Dewey peeked closer to try and listen, but Hal turned the other way.

"...ugh, fine! Just know your mother and I won't be bothering with any of your childish arguments!" Hal, even angrier than before, slammed the phone into the wall and threw himself back in his seat. No words were exchanged that breakfast.

—

Hal was called in by his work to finish up files that he supposedly didn't do before he left that night (probably due to a Tetris tournament), leaving Malcolm and Dewey alone.

"You! Look at me." Hal looked Malcolm dead in the eye, his eyes holding a stern glare.

"I have to go into work, and your mother is working a 14 hour shift. That means you will be left alone. Now, if I come back and I catch you doing something you're not supposed to be doing... there will be DIRE, and I repeat, DIRE consequences! You will be kicked out and whatever else your mother adds on to the list, so stay away from the TV, the phone, the-,"

"Whatever. I need to finish up my homework anyways, I wouldn't be doing anything fun even if I had the freedom to do so."

"...the car, the radio-..."

Once Hal finally ended his rant and the list of all his punishments he would pile on if Malcolm were to be caught, Malcolm decided to finish the pile of homework that he was too in distress to finish last night. He still had to write Mr. Herkabe's paper about potential origins of mental illness, which he already started with the definition of mental illness and the earliest recorded medical records of it. His pencil tapped the paper as he looked in his book, which was organized and highlighted.

"Some mental illnesses have been linked to abnormal functioning of nerve cell circuits or pathways that connect particular brain regions...  
In addition, defects in or injury to certain areas of the brain have also been linked to some mental conditions."

Nodding, he quickly paraphrased it into a somewhat simpler sentence (throwing in a few facts here and there about facts about the brain, mostly just to spruce it up.) He looked back in the book and continued reading.

"Mental illnesses sometimes run in families, suggesting that people who have a family member with a mental illness may be somewhat more likely to develop one themselves."

He couldn't help but crack a small smile at that, thinking about the chaotic but psychologically interesting behaviors of his parents being the true reason of how their children turned out. Truth be told, he always knew there was something wrong... mentally or emotionally speaking with his parents; his father had an obsession with filling in all the letters in his encyclopedias (a possible symptom of OCD, Malcolm thought to himself before in the past) and a large amount of neuroticism, and his mother had issues with trust and anger management, although it was most likely stemming from her abusive childhood. And that's just the obvious things the family knew about. It wouldn't be the craziest idea to think maybe some of it rubbed off on them through their DNA.

"Psychological factors that may contribute to mental illness include severe psychological trauma suffered as a child, such as emotional, physical, or sexual abuse, an important early loss, such as the loss or abandoment of a family member, neglect, and poor ability to relate to others, although this does not conclude the list."

As much as he hated to admit it, reading this made Malcolm chuckle to himself. Not that he found this or mental illness funny, not even in the slightest, but the coinsidence was a tad amusing. Reading through the phycological part of the lists, he couldn't help but think about his life. The screaming, the fighting, being left out and excluded at school, being treated like a freak his whole life for being poor and supposedly gifted. Malcolm sighed, his eyes glaring off the paper and into space. Maybe it wasn't so surprising he turned out such a freak with a lack of self control and a crybaby streak. Uncontrollably, Malcolm started chewing on his pencil and started thinking again. That's all he seemed to do nowadays- overthink.

Last night was really his first breakdown that was ever that severe. He's had breakdowns before (embarrassingly enough, sometimes in front of his family), mostly where he started sobbing and blubbering about how much he hated his life and "oh, boo hoo, I'm so depressed", but last night was the first time he's really... done anything about it, to say. Even if it wasn't a big deal, which it wasn't, it was still the worst he's ever had.

Contemplating on whether or not he should've taken last night seriously, he sat there in the silence, confined to his room while cartoons played in the distance with occasional sounds of Dewey running to the kitchen to grab yet another soda. Suddenly, there another phone call. Since Mom was still at work and Dad just left and he doubted Dewey, who was currently enchanted by cartoons would get it, he hopped up and picked up the phone.

"Hello?" 

"Hey Malcolm!" Reese replied over the phone, causing Malcolm to crack a smile.

"Reese! Why didn't you call for so long? Where are you?"

"Dude, you won't believe it. I found an apartment on the west side of town for only $100 a month including utilities! With my new job, I should have about $300 left over ever month!" He spilled, causing Malcolm to drop his smile and start wondering.

"How did you get accepted for an apartment that fast? It's been less than a day! What do you mean it's only $100? What the hell type of apartment is this?"

"Don't worry about it! It's a nice place! I'll admit, it needs some fixing up here and there, but-"

"I'm coming over. Where are you?"

Reese gave Malcolm the address, and Malcolm figured he had about two hours before either of his parents got home, so he could sneak out without being punished as long as he made it back in time. It was risky, but it beat staying home. Besides, when did his parents rules ever apply to him?

"Dewey, promise me you won't tell Dad that I left, alright?"

"What? You're leaving? Where?" Dewey looked away from his TV, which was the first time in hours.

"Reese got a new apartment, I'm gonna check it out. You can come if you want, but the way Reese made it sound, it's a total dump."

"If you leave and Mom or Dad come back, you realize I'll get in serious trouble too for letting you leave?"

"If they come back, just pretend I'm taking a nap or something, alright? Try to make it seem like I'm still here."

Dewey sighed, "Can I come with?"

"Wait, really?"

"Yeah. They're starting to play reruns."

Malcolm thought about it before nodding. "Fine, just don't forget that we need to rush back, alright? This is already dangerous enough as it is."

"If this place is such a dump, why are you risking getting in deeper trouble for it?"

"I... I feel bad about encouraging Reese about Mrs. Winston's. If I didn't go with him, I doubt he would've went through with it. Most I can do is give him a visit."

"Don't blame yourself too much, I think Reese would've done it anyhow. He's an idiot."

—

The apartment was called "The Chateau Complex", said by the old faux gold lettering on a wooden sign in front of the apartments. Despite the name, this place resembled nothing of a château. The shingles of the roof were moss ridden and falling off, the parking lot was filled with large pot holes and cigarettes (and a few needles and beer bottles thrown here and there), and the paint seemed to be wearing down to a spotted brown and white disaster. Malcolm, trying his best to keep Dewey away from the sketchiest looking areas, looked around for Reese's number, room 414.

"There! Rooms 400 to 420." Dewey exclaimed. The two of them rushed inside, instinctively feeling unsafe in the parking lot.

A larger man with a goatee and a red face sat behind a counter inside, filling out some sort of forms. He seemed to be unconcerned about the new visitors. His beady eyes glared up at the two brothers and peered back down to his stack of papers. He had a strange vibe to him, Malcolm thought. Was this the pathetic excuse for a landlord? Malcolm and Dewey, unnerved by the man, scurried upstairs to find Room 414.

While strolling down the hallway, Malcolm quickly told Dewey to cover his ears. Throughout the hallway, he heard arguments about money and "the stuff" from one side, and passionate moans from the other, which made Malcolm sick to his stomach. He and Dewey jogged until they found it- Room 414.

He was first to knock, and a tired looking Reese answered.

"Hey guys, come on in." He replied casually, ignoring everything else.

Malcolm tugged Dewey inside and quickly shut and locked the door.

"What's up with you all of a sudden? Why so jumpy?"

"Reese!" Malcolm exclaimed, letting go of Dewey and letting him uncover his ears now that the shouting and the moaning was very muffled, but not entirely gone. "This place is awful! First of all, does the landlord even know that this place isn't sound proof?"

"Eh, so I hear the neighbors here and there. It just gives us something to talk about!"

"I found used needles in the parking lot! And do you know h-" Malcolm's eyes widened as he let out a small shriek.

"Reese! You have bed bugs?"

"What, these things?" Reese flicked one from the floor onto the ground. It skittered in the the direction of the bedroom, sliding under the door, causing Malcolm and Dewey to cringe. "They're not hurting anyone."

"That's disgusting!" Dewey shouted. Considering how much he doesn't mind bugs or other creatures in his house, that says something.

"Oh my god, you can't seriously consider living here. You can't think that this is okay! There isn't a single good thing about this place!"

"Look, I told you it wasn't perfect, alright? But it's only $100 a month, and at least I don't have two old geezers screaming in my face everyday, so I'd say this place is a hell of a lot better than back home." Reese huffed, turning around and pulling spinach quiches out of an old oven.

"We have cable, a swimming pool, a gym-"

"You also have bed bugs and abusive, horny, drug selling neighbors."

"I told you the bed bugs don't hurt anybody! And they don't get all in my business, so why should I get all up in theirs?"

"Reese, we need to bring you back home. These are unlivable conditions." Reese offered Malcolm and Dewey a quiche, to which he checked over before taking a bite.

"He's right, Reese. This is awful."

"No! I don't care how bad this place is, I'm not going back!"

"Reese!" Malcolm shouted.

"I'm sick of being treated like garbage! Like I'm this stupid jackass that everybody just has to put up with!" Reese shouted, surprising Malcolm and Dewey alike with the sudden vulnerability.

"Look, trust me, I know this place sucks! But I'm tired of being treated like that all the time! And I can't stand all the constant screaming and fighting, just like you guys, alright? I know this place is awful, but anything is better than going back home."

Malcolm and Dewey were silent.

"You know, it's been real quiet without you." Dewey admitted.

"Yeah, and without you, doing stupid stunts just isn't as fun... Look, I shouldn't have encouraged you to go vandalize Mrs. Winston's. This is partially my fault, and I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if I left you here. Please, just come home with us?" Malcolm pleaded.

Reese thought then sighed. "What about Mom? And Dad?"

"Look, I'll admit, convincing them to take you back in is gonna be a pain in the ass, but when they see the condition you're living in, they'll have you move back in without a seconds thought. Besides, Francis is on our side so we have him to fight with us. I promise you won't be left in this hellhole."

Reese looked down and smiled. "Thanks guys. Look, I guess I'll walk home with you and-,"

"No! No, wait until we bring you a change of clothes first. And take a shower. I promise, we'll be back tomorrow."

Reese nodded and smiled.

"Alright. See you tomorrow."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! This is my shortest chapter yet, I think. I hope it's not too cheesy, I realized about halfway through that it was starting to sound like an emo fic so I had to go back and rewrite some of it.
> 
> Hope it provides some insight on Malcolm and the family!
> 
> Kind criticism appreciated! Please tell me about any spelling mistakes or grammatical errors.
> 
> Also fun fact: I'm new to AO3 and I messed up on the notes, so I had my notes made for Chapter 1 appearing on all the chapters because I'm smart. Apologies if you caught onto that whoops lol

Malcolm, who now 16, was parallel to Dewey, who has recently been having nightmares about his Grandma Ida. While he was too old to read to for comfort, Malcolm did try to consult with him through reassuring words.

Dewey groped the sheets and squirmed in his sleep, a look of discomfort on his face before he took a deep breath and managed to let it go. Perhaps his nightmares were lightening up a little, Malcolm thought.

While it was late, he simply just wasn't tired. Dewey had woken him up twice tonight on accident through shouting and vigorous tossing and turning, which must've been enough to keep him awake. He didn't mind though, the extra time to himself at nighttime was always unusually serene.

Restless, he went up in the kitchen to grab himself a cup of green tea to try to encourage himself to fall back asleep. He put the kettle on the stove and sat down at the empty table. Malcolm didn't turn on any of the lights so his family wouldn't accidently wake up and ruin what was supposed to be a relaxing, solo moment for himself.

He sighed, waiting for his kettle to boil. He turned down the stove a little and decided to watch TV for a few minutes. Maybe something boring, like the news or PBS. Flickering through the channels, he felt himself slowly getting bored, but not tired. He sighed, giving up and turning off the television to grab his kettle before it started spouting, which would've been too much noise.

After his green tea was poured and he tried everything to make himself tired,- pacing, resting his eyes, taking melanin from the bathroom- he decided to relax on the couch and sip his tea and occasionally look out the window.

But, like classic Malcolm, he couldn't keep his head quiet. He started thinking. Thinking about this past year, which slowly turned into him thinking about the struggles ahead of him. All the struggles ahead of him, because he was the hope of the family. Which lead to him telling himself he'd be better off slicing his own throat right here than continue on living.

Shocked at his sudden violent thoughts, Malcolm's eyes widened as he grabbed a pillow for comfort. Those words, though, weren't particularly... hurtful, more than they were brutally truthful. But was it brutally truthful, or was he being melodramatic?

He took a sip of his tea, which was now cooled down, as he proceeded to overthink.

Malcolm was never really the type to feel comfortable showing his emotions in front of anyone, especially his family, despite having a surplus of them he never understood what he was supposed to do with. Since he was a baby, he's trained all his thoughts to come out of his mouth as careless and insensitive, rather than to be like his original thoughts- passionate and delicate. This was a force of habit he pushed himself to learn over a long span of years, which eventually lead to him being uncomfortable to represent his truth self, which sounded cheesy, but it was a known issue amongst his whole family (especially Reese).

He had so many things he's never told his family. He's even repressed his deepest, most organic thoughts in the unexplored parts of his brain- stuff he was too afraid to even admit to himself. But maybe tonight was one of those nights where one of those thoughts got loose. And maybe, just maybe, that thought could've spared him from a miserable road ahead. Or maybe, it would've ripped something beautiful from him despite promises of comfort and relief from an early grave. Confused, Malcolm started hyperventilating- not horribly, but enough to be noticable. He squeezed his pillow and proceeded to list the cons and pros of staying alive, the pros and cons of fighting through all the misery for a potential chance of a happy ending, all night long.

—

Malcolm thought about his first suicidal thought while sprawled out on the very couch where it came to be. It was 11pm, not super late, but the house was still silent and not a peep was made. The lights were on, which made Malcolm feel vulnerable. The darkness presented the same sense of security as a warm blanket pulled over him, the outside world being excluded from all his thoughts. He sighed, got up, and shut off all the lights, leaving the house pitch black other than the moonlight through the windows.

His leg burned as he stretched out on the couch and the fabric of his sweatpants rubbed up against the now healing cuts. He didn't have something to curl up to this time, but nonetheless, nostalgia struck him intensely, his brain presenting old memories of his 16 year old, terrified and insecure self. Malcolm couldn't decide if brooding about it would make it better or worse. This time, instead of tea, he grabbed himself a cup of hot cocoa as a comfort before deciding to sit down and turning on the TV.

The TV's volume was barely audible, just the way he wanted it so late at night. He sipped his boiling hot cocoa (causing him to wince in a shocking pain) and placed his bare feet on the living room table. The TV was showing some stupid rerun of an old sitcom from the early 90s, but his attention wasn't at all diverted to that. It was diverted to his nostalgia.

Since that night, suicidal thoughts had ran through his head like a bustling train track, coming though tirelessly. It's caused him sleepless, painful nights. It's caused him grim days at school where he had to pretend everything was normal. It's caused him to be unable to see the purpose of life, viewing at as a useless, purposeless mistake resulting in dark, meaningless consequences that so happened to be filled with pain.

Unafraid of being caught, Malcolm started sniveling. Not sobbing, but a gentle cry that he's repressed over the years through a lot of excruciation, slowly letting it out. He grabbed the sleeve of his sweatshirt and wiped off the tears, forcing himself to try and relax. Every night has been so terrible and so tiring.

A person can only take so much.

Malcolm took a deep breath and pondered. Shaky and scared, he thought. Depressed and traumatized, he thought. He continued to think all the way to the silverware drawer, as he pulled it open and peered into the certain section of the silverware drawer that could be the difference between someone's life and their death.

What am I doing? What the hell am I doing? Should I be doing this?

...Should I?

Malcolm held a paring knife. He inspected it and he turned it around, watching it's gleaming sharp edges.

"Malcolm?"

He jumped, dropping the knife and jerking his head up towards to sudden intrusion.

Dewey stood there curiously, almost innocently. He glared at Malcolm suspiciously, wondering about his jumpiness.

"God, Dewey, what?" Malcolm hissed, slamming the drawer.

"Jesus, nothing. Why are you up so late? And why are you so jumpy?"

Malcolm rolled his eyes, leaning up against the counter and looking at Dewey's feet.

"Mind your own business Dewey. I just couldn't sleep, alright?"

"You haven't been able to sleep these past few days," Dewey observed, "why?" He turned on the light, making Malcolm squint his eyes. They were deep red in a visible and obvious way.

"I said mind your own damn business. What about you, what are you doing up?"

"I was gonna make a sandwich, unless you're too busy doing secret stuff behind our backs or something. Why are your eyes red?"

"My eyes aren't red."

"They're pretty red. Wh- are you high?"

Malcolm couldn't help but chuckle at his brother's guess.

"What, no? Is that what you're thinking, I'm staying up all night so I can smoke weed?"

"That'd make sense to why you're acting so weird and hiding from us." Dewey admitted, before realization hit him.

"So you were crying then?"

"Look, Dewey, I don't know why my eyes are red, they just are!" Nice cover, Malcolm. If Dewey wasn't there, he would've slapped his forehead.

Dewey didn't seem mad. There wasn't even a slight twinge of anger in his face at Malcolm's defensiveness. Actually, he seemed kind of... concerned?

"Dude... are you doing alright?"

Malcolm sighed and nodded. There wasn't much to say, but he must say he was surprised by the concern.

"Yeah, Dewey. I'm fine... thanks."

"Alright... well, just... try to get some sleep. We're gonna meet up with Reese in the morning and I doubt Mom's gonna be happy. You probably should be pretty rested for that. Makes you think better."

"I'll try." Malcolm fiddled with a string on the sleeve of his sweatshirt, looking at Dewey and giving a small smile to his younger brother.

"Night."

"Night, Malcolm."

—

It was now 1am. His alarm clock mocked that he couldn't get a blink of sleep. Dewey, on the other hand, was back asleep after making his sandwich, which he managed to scarf down and then proceed pass out in a span of 10 minutes. Malcolm was back to his state of mind before Dewey intruded on his thoughts. He sat on the edge of the bed, grasping his pillow and closing his eyes. Perhaps it'd be all over soon. He tried to go back to bed. He clenched his eyes and lied back down.

—

He sobbed. It was 2am and he couldn't get over how much of an idiot he was.

This time, it was his arms. Seven of them to be specific. His blood pooled on the bottom of the bathroom floor, the blood drops falling on the tiles as well as onto his clothes. He was a fucking idiot. A fucking melodramatic idiot. It's exactly what he deserved. He deserved nothing better. Maybe someone would walk in on him, and they would cry out about him making such a stupid decision, and take him to the emergency room to discuss such deep cuts that may require stitches, while they secretly discussed putting him in a psyche ward away from him.

Or maybe he'd continue to hurt himself. Maybe he'd cut and bloody himself so badly he'd faint in the bathtub and never wake up. His family would walk in on him and scream, begging for somebody to call 911. But it'd be too late. And they'd carry his lifeless corpse out on a casket and everyone would remorse over a pathetic loser. They'd bury him deep underground, only for him to just never be thought of again once the final flower was placed besides his tombstone.

Or maybe, just for tonight, he'd wash and put back the pairing knife to it's original drawer, and he'd clean up his wounds and switch out his clothes, hiding his bloodied ones under his bed until he figured out what to do with them, and he'd bandage his cuts with the surplus of bandages on hand, and he'd go back to bed without his family ever knowing.

He decided to go with the latter.

He grabbed the bandages from the medicine drawer and grabbed an old black washcloth and applied water and soap on the both of his arms. Morning was going to be rough for his arm, he thought with a small, sad smile while he bandaged up his secrets, cleansing them and hiding them underneath a long shirt for him to deal with in the morning.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Apologies for taking so damn long for this chapter. A combination of the SATs, illness, work, and general high school stuff has taken up pretty much all my time. But now that my school has given me what I suspect to be COVID, I have quite a bit of time to work on whatever I please.
> 
> As usual, I hope you enjoy!

"Why are we back to your wishing hole?" Malcolm asked cautiously, his sneakers leaving odd footprints in the squishy mud as he followed Reese, who had something strangely shaped in his hand. The sky was filled with vivid navy blues, lavenders, and cherry reds, and a surplus of stars glittered like lights. It had a similar but more vivid style to a Claude Monet painting. Malcolm felt unworldly.

"I need to make a wish, but it'll only work if you're here." Reese answered. He was barefoot, but he didn't seem to mind the mud. Malcolm could've almost laughed at his superstitions if Reese didn't seem so resolte.

Reese's hand squeezed whatever it was he was holding, his knuckles gleaming white, and he looked behind gently to Malcolm, who on the other hand looked almost exhausted, but not necessarily irritated.

"Ready, Malcolm?"

"What are you holding?"

"I was just getting to that. Hold this." Reese opened his hand and revealed a bloodied razor to Malcolm's fright. His hands and arms, like Malcolm's, were covered from shoulder to wrist in strange white marks. In fact, their arms were identical, each scar matching up with one another.  
He held the razor with care and looked worriedly at Reese.

"Wishing tree," started Reese, starting not unlike a prayer, peering up at the tree that seemed to get taller and taller the longer he looked, it's long, willow branches weeping over the brothers. "I wish for me and my brother Malcolm to win this."

"I want to keep him alive, even if painfully. And I want the both of us protected from any harm." Reese ended his wishes with a verse that wasn't English before looking over to Malcolm, who was still holding the blade. Somehow, Malcolm knew to hide the object in the hallow.

—

"MALCOLM, DEWEY! BREAKFAST!"

Malcolm woke up uncomfortably, turning on his back and forcing his eyes open on the holed ceiling before slamming them shut. What a strange dream.

"Is it Monday already?" Dewey groaned, planting his face in his pillow and pulling his blanket over himself. Malcolm wondered the same thing. These past few days felt so antagonizingly long.

Forgetting about his odd dream quickly, he blinked open his eyes and immediately shut them again once the light shined through them. He groaned and flopped over on the bed, lazily bringing himself up and beginning to dressed. The now dark red and brown bandages immediately revealed themselves while changing, which caused Malcolm to crunch down and hide his arms before Dewey walked in the room. He sighed and picked up a long sleeved flannel and quickly put it on before doing anything else.

After brushing his teeth and combing his wrangled hair, he went out for breakfast. The whiff of eggs, bacon, and pancakes flew through the air and his stomach growled.

He scooted himself closer to the breakfast table and spotted a fully dressed Lois with a spatula in hand, her hair in pigtails and her Lucky Aide uniform on properly. She didn't have crinkled eyebrows or a furious vein popping out of her forehead per usual. In fact, she looked almost tranquil.

"Morning, Malcolm." She greeted, back still bent over her eggs and sausages. This was the first time she treated him respectfully since he destroyed Mrs. Winston's place.

"...Good morning." He tried to blurt out kindly, but it came out confused and almost blunt. He looked down to the plates across the table, grabbed a glass, and filled it up with orange juice. Malcolm couldn't help but wonder what was making her so cheery and relaxed. Just one night she's coming home still shaking mad and ready to snap at anyone who displeases her slightly, and in one night it's like all her worries disappeared... oh. Oh, ew. Ew.

Malcolm scowled and shook the thought out of his head. He looked back up to his mother and thought to himself at least she wasn't raging with fury, which is objectively worse than gross intrusive thoughts.

"Breakfast is ready! I'm not telling anyone again!" She shouted again, placing a breakfast of sausage, scrambled eggs, pancakes, and toast in front of them. Malcolm thought about how this would be a gourmet breakfast if Reese were here. Nevertheless, he grabbed a large serving of all of it, pouring unhealthy amounts of syrup on everything, including his eggs.

Still bent over the oven with a spatula in one hand and pan handle in the other, Lois didn't even complain when she dropped a pancake on the floor and it landed on her foot, something that would usually get out a little swear or an eye roll.

Malcolm had almost lost his appetite from earlier, but persisted on stomaching everything down. But truth be told, whatever made her keep her rage in, even if it was just for a few hours, was going to be beyond helpful in getting Reese back home. He figured he should strike up a painful "Reese has an awful home" conversation soon. But how would he even begin?

Lois was scarfing down her food and Malcolm decided to follow along before school. Dewey, finally coming out of his room in a strange sweater with hair barely combed and holey socks, sat across from Malcolm and grabbed a large stack of pancakes, pouring an unholy amount on before chowing them down like a starving dog.

"So, boys," Lois striked up calmly, "I need you to behave while I take the rest of Craig's shift today. He called me telling me he accidentally twisted his ankle at a convention and couldn't make it in, so I'll be gone for an extra hour. Your father will be here to watch you."

No "If I catch you doing anything stupid, so help me God, I will strike down on you two like thunder," or "if I see something broken when I get back you better believe that I'll break something of yours"? Lois wasn't typically this calm, or at least not noticeably so.

"Alright." Malcolm and Dewey jinxed.

"Good. Now hurry up, you're going to be late."

—

It was now lunch and Malcolm hasn't seen Reese anywhere. He assumed he probably just skipped another day, understandibly so. Sitting under a shady spot under a tree, Malcolm ate his lunch in solitude and pondered about... well, everything really. He checked his bandages and saw the dried up blood. Truth be told he didn't realize how badly he... injured himself last night until peeking at his old bandages. It wasn't an jaw dropping amount, but a good enough amount to make someone cringe. He started planning on what to do with his old clothes under his bed before he heard a familiar shout from across the yard. Looking up, he saw Lloyd wearing a big wave and a goofy smile, with Stevie and Dabney glancing at at each other uncertainly behind him. Malcolm frowned and propped himself up.

"Malcolm!" Lloyd shouted, pathetically jogging over towards him. As much as he sort of missed his old Krelboyne friends, he really didn't want to talk to anyone at the moment.

"Hey, Lloyd." He attempted to sound friendly but the uncomfortable mood was apparent in his voice.

"Hey, me and the rest of the crew over there realized you were looking a little lonely over here, and me and Stevie were having a raging debate about the true dimensions of our current universe and I thought, hey, why not invite our favorite soon-to-be observational astrophysicist to join us!" He grinned, holding Powers of Ten by Phillip and Phylis Morrison in one hand and his vegan lunch in the other. Malcolm gave a small fake smile and shook his head.

"That's really nice of you, really, but I think I just want to be left alone right now."

Lloyd, still smiling, continued to push him further.

"Come on, I know how heated you can get when the topic of dark energy comes up."

"No, Lloyd."

"Me and Dabney think-"

"I said no! Please, just, leave me alone!" Malcolm snapped. He knew he'd feel bad about it later, but he simply just wasn't in the mood.

Lloyd's cheery smiled turned into a scowl and his sudden vibrant energy turned bitter. Eyebrows clenched, he scoffed and looked away from Malcolm.

"Whatever you want, but just don't say I didn't try..." Lloyd took a deep breath, but he looked like he was about ready to snap too. Malcolm, too stubborn to apologize this early, rolled his eyes in a pathetic attempt to be nonchalant.

"You've been a sniveller since we've entered high school, you know that?" Lloyd spit out.

"What?" Heart racing, he felt himself about ready to say something uncalled for yet again.

"You heard me! Me and everyone else has done our darnedest to become friends with you but all you focus on is popularity and girlfriends, and when it's not that, you're whining on how much your life stinks! The sulking never ends with you!"

"Lloyd, why in the hell are you doing this?"

People from way across the court looked over to the two bickering boys, both red in the face.

"You used to be our leader, Malcolm! But now you don't even bother! Especially since Cynthia was-"

"Don't you dare bring her up!" Malcolm got up, heart racing even faster. Cynthia, even years later, was still a sensitive topic.

"You know what? I'm done trying to rekindle our friendship. Stevie can try all he wants to salvage whatever flimsy bond the two of you have left, but me and Dabney don't want to talk to you anymore."

If Lloyd hadn't been such a close (now ex) friend, Malcolm thought would've decked him in the nose right there considering his mood. Unsure of what to do, he got up and decided to get his final word.

"Fine by me! I never asked to be your guy's friends anyways! I'm done!"

But Lloyd was already gone and back to his table. He spoke to Dabney and Stevie, who listened in intensely. Dabney shot Malcolm a dirty look, while Stevie shook his head and gave him a look of disapproval.

—

He couldn't help it, he was having an atrocious day. An atrocious week. Godawful year after year. Sneaking into the boy's bathroom before his fifth period, he turned on both of the dryers and picked the biggest stall to let out some stress. He leaned against the gross stall walls and started whimpering, using his flannel to dry the tears. After about a minute or two, he forced himself to stop and come out once he knew nobody was out there, washing his face with cold water to put it back to it's normal color.

He walked to Mr. Herkabe's ten seconds before the bell rang and barely made it just in time, per usual.

The class was packed full and Reese was nowhere to be found. Malcolm sat at his desk and avoided any sort of eye contact with the teacher, who's glance always laid on him like clockwork everytime he entered the room.

"Good morning, class." Mr. Herkabe spoke dully, noticing the empty seat that usually contained his willful punching bag along with the lanky looking teenage boy who happened to be his brother. Thoughts and curiosities immediately swarmed his mind.

"Today we'll begin on the French Revolution, as most of you know it in layman's terms. Open your textbooks to page 289 and read chapters 1 and 2 before we begin."

Malcolm already knew about the French Revolution and everything that came from it, and while he found it interesting in other circumstances, today he just wasn't intruiged. He pulled out his textbook and threw it open on the designated page, glaring it over and not retaining a lick of information, not like he needed to.

Herkabe noticed he's been on the same page for 15 minutes, something unusual for such a fast paced reader, and decided now would be a good idea to prod at that fact. But more importantly, while getting up, he noticed his eyes were a bloodshot red.

"Malcolm," he started, walking over to his desk quietly but sneering, "I see you haven't flipped a single page in 15 minutes."

"I'm going over the information. Putting it in perspective."

"You can do that and manage to figure out how to apply that to our current state in five minutes, Malcolm. Mind I ask what is up with the sudden slack? My star pupil feeling lazy today?"

"I'm just tired, that's all." Malcolm attempted to say calmly but it came out more in a hiss.

"You should've gotten some coffee then."

Malcolm sighed, too upset to fight. "Yeah, I'll do that next time."

Shocked slightly by his inability to come up with a sniveling comeback, Herkabe walked back over to his desk and focused on grading what he considered to be below mediocre essays, or to say as like one of his students did in his final exam, "like totally ridonkulous" essays.

30 minutes passed and the class was in a bored haze, most of their minds already wandering away from the textbooks they're being forced to read. Malcolm still held a frown on his face and the textbook was still only on the second page.

"Alright, class, that should've been enough time to go over everything everything. So who can tell me what started the revolution? Uh..."

The students already knew who he was going to ask. It was similar to a ritual, a daily teasing on Malcolm.

"...Malcolm?"

Snapping up, his eyes bolted awake before slowly going back to their melancholy state.

"Er- the French Revolution- began in 1789 due to the... the poor economic policies set in place by King Louis XVI and... due to the inequality between the poor and the bourgeoisie." He spit out, almost automatically.

"Good, good."

That was the only time Herkabe decided to pick on him in class before the short lecture ended. Malcolm packed up his backpack two minutes before the bell rang and hopped up the second it did, before Herkabe called his name from his desk.

"Malcolm?"

Shit.

Malcolm sighed, obvious displeasure written across his face.

"Yes, Mr. Herkabe?"

"Sit down, I need to talk to you."

His stomach turned in knots as he pulled out a chair and faced his teacher.

"Yes?"

"Well, to begin with this little debacle, first thing I noticed this morning was your bloodshot eyes. And I know you said you were tired, but from what exactly?"

Malcolm decided he wanted to come off as uninterested in this charade, but strictly so.

"None of your damn business."

Herkabe was genuinely taken aback by this snip, but nevertheless kept a cool expression.

"Well, this sudden attack on me is definitely not helping your case of it just you being 'tired', is it?"

Malcolm decided to remain silent.

"I also noticed you didn't actually read anything in the book. Not like such an awe striking genius like yourself has to, of course. You're always bloating about your high IQ, I know you practically know everything there is about... oh, God, what am I teaching right now to those primates...? Oh, yes! The French Revolution."

Malcolm squirmed uncomfortably in his seat, looking down at his untied shoelaces instead of his teacher's eyes.

"The silent treatment today, hm? Where's your brother?"

"Away."

"But where is away?"

"Can I leave?"

"That's your second strike Malcolm. One more snooty comment and I'm going to have to give you weekend detention."

He shook his head, nibbling at the edges of his nails.

"So?"

"I don't know. At his house I suppose."

"You say that like he has his own home now, away from yours?"

Silence.

"Our poor little misguided, misunderstood boy has been kicked out by your ruthless parents?"

Silence.

"And not to mention, what is with the bandages?"

Malcolm felt his heart stop. Did his sleeves fall down without noticing while sulking in his chair? He turned white.

"What?"

"Your bandages. I assume you knew you had them on?"

"They're from an injury."

"Oh? An accident I'm assuming?"

"Yes."

Herkabe sighed, knowing this conversation was a defeat for himself.

"...Well, I suppose make sure it's properly cleaned and attended to... You don't want it to get infected."

Surprised by the sudden kind advice with seemingly no sarcasm behind it, Malcolm nodded awkwardly.

"Okay..."

"You're free to leave."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to focus a bit on Malcolm's social life in this chapter before we head to Reese's story, just to get a general idea of how bad he's actually doing right now. 
> 
> As usual, if you see any grammatical or spelling mistakes please tell me! I hoped you liked it, and kind criticism is always appreciated!
> 
> edit: I especially love comments because they fuel my ego... just thowing that out there


End file.
